Dividing by Zero
by Laetitia Prism
Summary: My thoughts about what Folken's thoughts are like, told in Folken's point of view, addressed to Van, is this confusing you too? Is there such a thing as a poemfic, like a songfic, except, it's a poemfic? Well this would be a poem fic, if such a thing ex


Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from _Tenkuu no Escaflowne_, as much as I might wish to. Though, come to think of it, I don't wish to, because if I did I would have ruined the entire series with mawkish sentimentality, and deprived the world of a wonderful show. But the world wouldn't have missed it, because it would never have seen it, so...   
    Forgive me. I've just finished reading Connie Willis' _To Say Nothing of the Dog_. That speaks for itself. The verses are taken from the poem 'To S. A.' in the great incomparable _Seven Pillars of Wisdom_ by T. E. Lawrence, who is known to the masses as Lawrence of Arabia. *_sigh_* The movie as a movie is magnificent -- it's got Breadth and Vision in heaps and gobs, but it does very little justice to the character of the man himself, though I will admit that that final scene with Allenby where Peter O'Toole walks out and the curtain-thingy -- don't know English word for it it's summer break -- swishes so very disconsolately behind him had me wanting to sob like an idiot. I'm maudlin, murder will out, what am I to do?

_________________________

**_Dividing by Zero_**  
_________________________  
_____________________

§

> > > > > _I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands  
            and wrote my will across the sky in stars
>>>>>   
To earn you Freedom, the seven-pillared worthy house,
>>>>>         that your eyes might be shining for me
>>>>>                     When we came.
>>>>> _

§

    ~'_But why did he kill the dragon, niisan_?'~

    Because it is the rite of a monarch. Because it is the duty of a king to protect his people. Because it is the curse of kingship that you must fight with pen and sword for peace. Because if you fail to slay the dragon as I have failed, you are no longer worthy of your trust and are for evermore a traitor to your country. Because we are princes of Fanelia and were born for nothing else, and if you fail as I have failed, there will be no other star to follow but the will-o'-the-wisp.

    I have walked in its light since that moment of failure, prostituting myself for its sake to lead others into pain and madness, because I was no longer worthy of Fanelia to bear its name, and without that name I was nothing, purposeless. A man is the balance between his character and intellect; being purposeless, my heart parted for a warmer place than the exact grandeur of Dornkirk's fortress and left me no brace for my mind. You cannot divide by zero -- I wonder if they taught you that in a moment away from the clash of steel on tempered steel? If they didn't, it is my doing like a myriad of other evils, because I left my task as Crown Prince unfinished, to rule your life in turn.

    You grew up among swordsmen, I among scientists -- it was nothing less than another childhood, but I was Strategos because I had no heart -- and chemicals and machines were my life. They were part and all of me. My arm is a mockery of humanity -- I know that well, but I understand mockeries and cannot sympathise with imitations, however realistic. The nearer imitations are to reality, the more pathetic, because they can never _be_. Imitations are vain hopes, and I had no heart left for hopes of any kind. I understood Dornkirk's theory of controlling the world, past, present, and future, and because I had no purpose of my own I lent my strenght to the idea -- it seemed promising -- and was carried like a cast-off feather in the wind of it, uncaring. Being heartless I no longer cared for humanity, and perhaps -- probably -- Dornkirk's theory is fit only for beings like me who neither laugh nor weep and are content to be cogs in a machine.

    It is not a matter for pity, this heartlessness. It is the price for failure and I do not object to it. It is useful for taming dragons. I have given what remained of me to it, but it is not for you. Dornkirk's theory that I have devoted myself to is not for you, nor for people like you. I know, because I have killed people like you with it. I think Naria and Eryia were grateful to me for saving them, and gave me their lives, which was all they had. And yet, in the end, I could not give them better luck, because this theory of complete control is imperfect, and will fail, just as I could not give you a happy life by the rite of dragonslaying.

§

> > > > > _Men prayed me that I set our work, the inviolate house,  
                    as a memory of you.
>>>>>   
But for fit monument I shattered it, unfinished: and now
>>>>>   
The little things creep out to patch themselves hovels                 in the marred shadow
>>>>>                         Of your gift.
>>>>> _

§

    I walk among you now and am puzzled by your feelings; they are mostly incomprehensible to me. Sometimes I think that if I were still your big brother, I'd tease you because you have a girlfriend. But it's more than that, isn't it, Van? Hitomi loves you -- even I know that, and so would you, if you ever realised why Merle wants to use her as a scratching post. I should be _so_ disappointed if my devious scheme of reverse psychology didn't work -- Don't worry about Allen; he's not permanent. Vannikins has a girlfriend -- it is an amusing thought, but why this -- this dull ache at the back of my throat? Perhaps it is because I am like a ghost adrift amid your human passions. Perhaps it is because I have already failed you, twice. If I could not do anything for you with life I would do so with death, this death -- but death is a momentary, fleeting thing, too little time, and I can do no more --

    I can hear your voice, Van.

    ~ '_Niisan_!' ~ 

§

> > > > > _Death seemed my servant on the road, till we were near  
                    and saw you waiting:
>>>>>   
When you smiled, and in sorrowful envy he outran me
>>>>>   
                    and took you apart
>>>>>                     Into his quietness.
>>>>> _

§

    Absolve me, and let me go with Death into his quietness.

  


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~owari~  
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A/N: _Wrote this while depressed to pieces. I've wanted to write something like this for a very long time now, ever since I managed to accept the fact that Folken wasn't going to get up off that damned floor (Blast Dornkirk! the smug old goat!), only it didn't want to go on paper, and when I sat down yesterday at my calc stuff I stared blankly for at least fifteen minutes at the sines and cosines and then the flood-gates simply burst. I had a beastly time trying to decipher my own handwriting, because the lines all bled into each other. This is really not very well done -- I feel very strongly for Folken and I get tongue-tied whenever any sort of emotion is involved, so this is kinda clogged, but if I fiddle with it I'll just mess it up, and feel worse. Also I need a break from balling my eyes out, and the keyboard from short-circuiting. *rueful grin* All I wanted to do was to write a decent piece, for once, and not with it desecrate what I admire. 'Will someone tell me why my wishes never come true?'  
    Still, there's something to be said for it, and I hope those of you reading will take a little time to think about Folken, and all the rest of my sentimental rot. The concept of a man being the balance of his character and intellect is from Nicholas Blake's 
_The Smiler with the Knife_, and anything divided by zero is undefined. Any of you think Folken's like Sydney Carton, barring the alcoholism? ^^v Review please, or [email me][1]. I'd really appreciate feedback, discussions, etc. Thanks._

        ~Prism

   [1]: mailto:marsyas77@yahoo.com



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